Substitute
by trufflemores
Summary: 5x17, "Opening Night" reaction fic. Fast forward a few months and Kurt and Blaine are married, living together, and all is well in Kurt's world. Except he has the flu and there's only one fix when Blaine's away: a certain boyfriend pillow named Bruce. Fluff, fluff, fluff. Sick!Kurt. Klaine. COMPLETE.


**Disclaimer**: I do not own Glee or any of its characters; Ryan Murphy and Co. hold that honor. I'm simply writing this for fun, not profit.

Kurt didn't pull out Bruce often once Blaine moved back in. As comforting as the boyfriend pillow had been (and as invaluable as it had been for his sleep schedule when they had been apart), its services were no longer needed with a warm, cuddly Blaine available at all times for kisses and shoulder brushes and cheek rubs and long, simmering backrubs that made Kurt feel simultaneously relaxed and incredibly focused: namely on Blaine's hands and the lovely things that they were doing to the knots of tension along his back.

No, with Blaine back in his life full-time (and even that was an adjustment, but a far easier one than Kurt was expecting; he half-wondered if his own skepticism had fueled his surprise that everything was going so _well_), Kurt had no further need of Bruce. After all, boyfriend pillows didn't snore softly when their allergies kicked in or cuddle him extra close during thunderstorms, and they certainly didn't wake up early to surprise him with breakfast.

Boyfriend pillows could help him sleep at night, but Blaine was an incomparable substitute.

It wasn't until almost six months later that Kurt needed Bruce again.

He hadn't _planned _on getting the flu. He'd just been so busy that every opportunity to get vaccinated early against it had slipped past him. By the time things had settled down enough for him to take a moment for himself, it was too late.

He was paying for it in full now; he'd already spent the entire weekend alternating between tossing restlessly in bed and being sick in the bathroom, miserable on his knees and spent to his core. Blaine had brought him ginger ale and saltine crackers all night, refusing to leave his side for more than a few minutes to prepare things and take care of his own hygiene. He even went out to get the nice wheat bread that Kurt enjoyed so much, hoping to coax him into eating something more substantial than broth. It had worked – briefly; Kurt still threw up an hour later, dragging both himself and, by extension, Blaine out of bed at one in the morning – until it hadn't, just like everything else.

The flu was _miserable._ And Kurt was pretty convinced that he was dying, even though he didn't have the heart to break it to Blaine, who let him curl up, sweaty and exhausted, against one of Blaine's favorite sweaters because even wrinkled fabric fell underneath the love Blaine reserved solely for _Kurt._

Three days in, Kurt felt awful, sniffly and tired and _heavy_, as though he'd run a marathon and then climbed the Eiffel Tower before realizing that his body simply could not function any more. Blaine brought him everything he needed, even fielding questions from concerned coworkers and answering emails while Kurt dictated to him in a raspy, worn out voice. When that gave way, Blaine would save what he had and crawl into bed beside him, putting on old movies (and God, Kurt had almost forgotten how _amazing _musicals were and _that _was a crime as much as anything) and stroking his hair if Kurt nuzzled his chest the right way.

Except on Monday Blaine had work. And even though Kurt wanted him to stay, he forced him to go because one of them still had to be responsible and clearly it wasn't Blaine, who pouted and made him nice bland toast and stayed long enough to rub his back when he threw up again before pouting even more once Kurt was settled in bed afterward and told him to _go._

Blaine promised to take a half-day, and Kurt supposed that that was fair even though he sighed deeply enough to trigger a minor coughing fit as a result. The coughing fit immediately set of Blaine's anxious-handsy-helpful instinct, helping Kurt sit upright and rubbing his back until Kurt pinched his side and told him not to be late.

Blaine still pouted at him as he shrugged on his coat before leaning down to kiss Kurt's forehead and promising him that he would be back as soon as he could, there's ginger ale in the fridge and medicine in the cabinet and Netflix is set up, remote's on the bedside table. Kurt nodded along, pushing at his hip and flapping a hand dismissively, and instantly curled up in dismay when the door closed behind him because _God, _he hated being sick.

And he didn't even have a Blaine to cuddle, which shouldn't matter because he still felt just as sniffly and awful with Blaine, except it wasn't as bad when he had something to wrap his arms around. Something to hold him, too, to keep him company, keep him warm.

Groaning against the comforter because he did _not _just send his husband away only to text him and ask him to come back, he dragged the covers back over him, shivering compulsively until it hit him.

Bruce. Of course.

Shuffling awkwardly out from underneath his blankets, he leaned over the bed and vertigo threatened to unravel all of his plans.

Closing his eyes to steady himself, he slowly reached under the bed and grabbed the edge of the chest and tugged it so he could open it, grateful that Blaine didn't tend to snoop much unless he was looking for a particular bow tie. He wasn't ashamed of Bruce, but he didn't want Blaine to know how much Kurt relied on a boyfriend pillow for consolation, either.

Just as he wasn't about to introduce his dad to the admittedly varied and colorful sex life that Blaine and he had, he wasn't about to concede to Blaine that he still kept Bruce around.

Evidently his subconscious had kept Bruce stowed away for good reasons.

Arranging Bruce on the bed so Kurt could rest his cheek against its chest properly, he let out a deep sigh of contentment as the cool fabric touched his fever-warm cheek. Snuggling closer to it, unashamed, he kept his eyes closed and drifted off somewhere between one breath and the next, waking to a gentle shuffle of sheets around him.

"Just me, shh, sorry," Blaine murmured, adjusting the sheets around him and they were fresh again, cool and soft against Kurt's skin. "Do you need anything?"

Kurt shook his head against Bruce's chest, and it only occurred to him then that he had to look ridiculous, cozied up to a boyfriend pillow and cheeks splotchy-red with fever. Blaine didn't seem to notice, or care, or _judge, _and maybe that was the best word for it because Kurt really did feel shameless around him, vulnerable but strong, somehow. Blaine would never make him feel uncomfortable, and just the thought that he had _Blaine _around was enough for inspiration to strike again.

"C'mere," he murmured, pushing Bruce away and turning partially onto his side, one arm cast out lazily towards Blaine.

Without a moment's hesitation, Blaine unlaced his bow tie and crawled into bed beside him, wrapping his arms around Kurt firmly, cradling him, and Kurtloved being _held_ like that.

Bruce could offer him a lot, but it could never offer _this._

"I love you so much," he murmured, voice still thick with sleep, one hand curling over Blaine's to squeeze gently as he squeezed his waist in return.

"I love you, too," Blaine echoed, warm and sincere as he pressed a kiss to the back of Kurt's neck, and even sick and tired and miserable, Kurt still knew that there really was no substitute for Blaine.


End file.
